


Tunics, Tights, and Well-Turned Ankles

by MachaSWicket



Category: Gilmore Girls
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-22
Updated: 2014-02-22
Packaged: 2018-01-13 08:44:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1219909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MachaSWicket/pseuds/MachaSWicket
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>SUMMARY: Set in the summer, after "Raincoats and Recipes," while Luke was a traveling, grumpy RenFaire guy.</p><p>ORIGINALLY POSTED:  ~Nov 2004</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tunics, Tights, and Well-Turned Ankles

Lorelai trudged up the stairs onto her front porch, exhausted from the last twenty-four hours of preparation before opening day at the Dragonfly.

Opening day.

Even thinking the words gave her the chills.

Grinning to herself, she dug through her purse for her keys. She stumbled over a box and nearly put her hand through the glass portion of the front door, but at the last minute, managed to grab the doorknob. She glanced around, half-expecting to see Luke standing behind her, since she only seemed to lose all sense of balance in his presence. "Geez," she muttered, carefully righting herself, "he's not even in the state."

Skeptically, she stared down at the small brown box on her porch, trying not to let herself hope it was from Rory. Usually apologies and pleas for help came in the form of a frantic phone call, not in a box.

Plus, the innocuous box on her doorstep didn't have the stickers and stamps of an international delivery.

Lorelai shifted the bags she was carrying, and then crouched to scoop the package up with her free arm. She managed to elbow the front door open and kick it closed, then staggered into the kitchen to dump her burdens onto the kitchen table. She tossed her bottle of Diet Coke into the fridge but left the box of pop-tarts on the table for easy access, then shifted her attention to the mystery box.

Turning it over, Lorelai let out a girlish squeal when she saw the return address.

"Danes," she whispered, her fingers tracing his familiar scrawl. "Luke sent me mail!" She looked up, half-expecting her girl Rory to be there, sharing her anticipation. But Rory was in Europe and didn't want anything to do with Lorelai just now.

Some of Lorelai's enthusiasm slipped away. She missed her daughter and she ached for Rory's pain, but Lorelai was hurt and angry, too. It wasn't a fun mix of feelings to have for the most important person in her world. So until Rory came home, Lorelai would do her best to put that sick, sad feeling aside and concentrate on the Dragonfly.

And Luke.

 _That_ thought gave her chills, too.

Dropping into a chair, Lorelai pulled the box closer. "What did you send me, Mr. Danes?" she wondered, sliding a nail under the packing tape. After a struggle, she gave up and fetched scissors from the third junk drawer ("cutting implements and straws") to pry the box open.

A card lay on top of a small, wrapped package, all of which was surrounded by bubblewrap. Grinning, Lorelai tore open the envelope and pulled out the card. It simply read, "CONGRATULATIONS!" over an old black and white picture of two women, their arms raised in triumph. She flipped open the card, and the inside was inscribed with Luke's semi-legible handwriting:

_Lorelai,_

_Congratulations on the Dragonfly._

_Yours,  
Luke_

Lorelai blinked rapidly. "I'm not crying over this," she told the gift-wrapped present. "I'm not. It's just sweet." Who would've thought Luke would send her a congratulatory present the night before the inn's grand opening?

Well, maybe she should've known; he'd always taken care of her.

She reread the card, then set it upright on the table and reached for the present. The bright blue paper tore off easily, revealing a small collection of bath salts, bath beads, and a small bottle of bubble bath. Lorelai's eyebrows shot up as she stared at the gift in shock. Then she noticed the piece of notepaper taped to the bath beads. The note said, "Relax."

Sometimes it was scary how well Luke knew her. She'd been running herself ragged this week, over-caffeinated and, in Sookie's words, a hop, skip, and a jump over the border into Crazyland.

Now that Luke's present sat, enticingly, before her, Lorelai craved the relaxation of a bubblebath. "Oh, you dear man," she murmured, crumpling up the wrapping paper and tossing it into the empty box. She stood, Luke's gifts tucked under one arm, and headed for the stairs, pausing at the side table to grab the phone.

Upstairs, she set the phone, the bath salts, bath beads, and bubblebath on the counter and stepped back, tilting her head as she tried to decide which to use. Scanning the containers, the phrase "lavender to soothe your mind" jumped out at her, and she reached for the bath beads. Lorelai twisted the handles and started the taps, waiting for the water to reach the perfect temperature before plugging the tub.

She grabbed an oversized, fluffy towel from the linen closet, then turned to the mirror, twisting her hair up into a messy knot to keep it dry. When she turned back to the tub, the water was at a respectable level, so she tossed two bath beads in. Tilting her head, she considered for a moment, before dropping in another of the bright purple beads. 

Lorelai let the water run while she peeled off her "touchup paint" jeans and her "spackling is messy" t-shirt (borrowed from Rory's closet in a fit of pique). Nude, she turned off the taps, placed the phone on the edge of the tub, and stepped into the water.

The moans she made as she settled into the water were at the skinny edge of obscene, and Lorelai grinned stupidly at the tiled wall, letting the heat begin to relax her tense, tired muscles. "Oh," she sighed, reaching for the phone. "This is so great."

Luke had only owned his cellphone for a week, but Lorelai had already committed the number to memory. She wondered, sometimes, what that meant and why she felt so... _comfortable_ with the way her relationship with Luke was changing.

"Hello?" Luke answered, sounding a little out of breath.

"Take a wild guess where I am," Lorelai suggested, sliding a little deeper into the water.

"Hey," he said, his voice softening. "I was going to call you later."

"Is this a bad time?"

"No, no," Luke reassured her immediately. "No. I just walked into my hotel room."

"Ahhhh..." Lorelai answered, letting her eyes drift shut. The warm water kissed her skin, seeping into her sore muscles, lulling her into a languorous state. "How's Maine?"

"Well, a shopkeeper told me today that I'm worse than a downstater, whatever that means." His voice was warm and suffused with amusement; Lorelai could perfectly picture the half-grin on his face, and she missed him with a sudden ferocity that surprised her.

"Do they really say 'A-yuh,' like in a Stephen King novel?"

"Not yet," Luke answered sardonically. "But this place does have certain King-novel qualities."

"Mmmm," Lorelai answered, savoring the sound of his voice. She shifted in the water, stretching her legs out and crossing her ankles on the edge of the tub. 

Silence reigned for a long moment. "Uh, Lorelai?" Luke asked, sounding more than a little uncertain.

"Yeah?"

"Are you busy?"

"Oh!" Lorelai grinned. "No, I'm relaxing and you are a sweetheart."

He sounded puzzled "I'm -- Oh. Relaxing."

"Yup," she confirmed. Why was she still grinning? She wasn't entirely sure she'd be able to stop. "Thank you _so_ much for the gift. I'm taking a bath right now."

Silence.

Lorelai opened her eyes, a little puzzled by his lack of reaction. "Hello?"

"Yeah," Luke answered in a strangled voice. 

"What's wrong?" she asked innocently.

"You're -- you're taking a bath," he repeated, in a very odd voice. Almost as if he were a little bit breathless. 

Lorelai was grinning again, glowing in the knowledge that _she_ was causing the unflappable Luke to... well, to flap. Except that metaphor wasn't really appropriate, considering the situation, and Lorelai figured she should probably be focusing on what exactly she was supposed to say next. To Luke, who sent her bubblebath and knew how to waltz.

She was never going to stop grinning. 

"With the bath beads you sent me," Lorelai confirmed, lowering her voice to a sexier register. "When are you coming back to Connecticut?"

"Uh." Luke cleared his throat. "Would now be okay?"

Laughing, Lorelai asked, "Why don't I believe you?"

"I've got the car keys in my hand," Luke answered, "but I don't think you'd still be in the bathtub by the time I got there."

His words warmed her more than the water. "Drive fast," she suggested, only half-kidding.

"Lorelai," he groaned.

"How long are you staying in the lovely state of Maine?" she asked, a little surprised to hear the note of desperation in her voice. After years of wanting Luke in a subconscious, unrecognized kind of way -- and, apparently, being wanted by Luke in a circumspect, Lukeish kind of way -- they'd managed to make some progress. And they'd kissed. Very well. Expertly, even. But some scared part of her was convinced that he'd come to his senses before he got back to Connecticut, and she'd have to live the rest of her life wondering just how great it could've been between them. 

"Not that much longer," Luke answered. "We're leaving Maine next Tuesday."

Lorelai frowned. "We?"

"The Faire," he clarified quickly. "Apparently Franconia Notch is next on our list."

"Sounds magical."

"Not really," Luke answered. "Annie said the view's nothing special now that the Old Man in the Mountain crumbled."

Shaking her head slightly, Lorelai wasn't sure where to start. "The Old Man in the Mountain? Are you planning to visit with trolls?"

"Trolls?" he repeated blankly.

"Yes, trolls. You know, big, ugly, mean, stupid creatures that live in mountain caves and wander into the villages by dark of night to steal babies and seduce women -- though that last part never really made sense to me, if they're really giant and ugly and mean, because God knows what I look for in a man is--"

"Lorelai," Luke interrupted. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"The old men who live in the mountain," Lorelai explained. "Trolls."

"Actually--"

But Lorelai kept right on talking, because she'd almost allowed herself to get sidetracked from the part that needed the most clarification. "And who is Annie?"

"Oh, Annie works at the Grog Booth."

"The--" She shook her head. "The _Grog_ Booth?"

"Yup," Luke answered. "What I wouldn't give for a Sam Adams right about now."

"You've tried _grog_?" Lorelai demanded, eyebrows raised, trying to picture Luke at some rough-hewn bar, slinging back a tin mug of grog while some ample-bosomed wench with a serving tray and a smile looked on. "You sampled Grog Booth Annie's wares?"

"Sampled her wares?" Luke echoed, amused. "I tried the grog, yes."

Lorelai frowned, just a little bit, and she may have sounded the tiniest bit petulant when she said, "You know, I'm having a hard time picturing you drinking grog in tights and a tunic."

"Who said anything about tights?" Luke spluttered. "There are no tights!"

"Ooooh," Lorelai teased, because saying something that caused that exasperated tone in his voice was one of her favorite pastimes. "You're showing off your well-turned ankles?"

"There are no tunics, no tights, and no well-turned ankles. I'm wearing a shirt and jeans, just like always."

The image of Luke, wandering through a Renaissance Faire in his flannel-and-jeans ensemble made Lorelai smile. She let her eyes drift shut and savored the thought. "Tell me about the Faire," she requested.

"The last thing I want to talk about is the damn Faire," Luke grumbled. 

"Luuuke," Lorelai cajoled. "I want to hear about it." She wanted to be there with him, to see him seethe quietly (or not so quietly) about the lute-playing minstrel. But they both had their responsibilities, so she'd settle for hearing the funny stories from afar. 

"I'm surrounded by a group of people who think life was better when beheadings were all the rage and the plague killed off every third person," he pointed out. "Can't we talk about you instead?"

"I'm surrounded by warm bathwater," Lorelai answered. "Want me to keep talking about that?"

"God, yes," he replied immediately. "But I might do something rash if you do."

"Something rash?" Lorelai pressed. "Do tell."

"Jump in the truck, head to Connecticut," Luke suggested. "Drive to an airport, head to Connecticut..."

Lorelai shifted just so that Luke would hear the water lapping at the edges of the tub. "If all of these options end with you coming home, I might just talk about my bath after all. I've got my hair twisted up--"

"So there's this guy, Hay Bale Bill, who's engaged to Grog Booth Annie," Luke interrupted.

Unable to stop grinning, Lorelai leaned back against the edge of the tub and let Luke's voice wash over her. 

THE END


End file.
